


Paying the Rent

by Lovova



Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: M/M, Really not nice, Skullfucking, not nice, seriously
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-17
Updated: 2015-12-17
Packaged: 2018-05-07 04:55:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,526
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5444057
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lovova/pseuds/Lovova
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sans goes to negotiate his rent rates with his new landlord. It goes poorly.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Paying the Rent

I started writing this to warm up for a longer piece, and it...got away from me. For weeks.

This is as non-con as a skeleton can be non-conned on, and borrows a LOT of headcannons from the author Tangerine_Catnip. They explain the soul stuff better then I can, so go read their fics. Ya know...after reading this one. Cool? Cool.

-

The apartment was at the very edge of what they could afford, and at the moment they couldn't afford much. Monsters had scattered when the barrier had collapsed, but this had proved a problematic tactic, as it was soon becoming evident that there were many places entirely unwilling to house monsters, or have monsters housed near them, and there were no laws currently in place to stop such discrimination. Most monsters were now ending up in San Diania as a result, one of the few 'safe haven' cities in the country who were openly monster positive, but even this city was only just barely tolerating them, and though the city government was working with their monster representation (which mostly consisted of the King and Queen, along with Frisk) to try and fix the issue, most monsters were finding themselves living either on the very outskirts of the city, in the more sparse areas, or dead center in the city itself, where the population was poorest but the rent was cheapest. These areas were dangerous, and people were angry and scared, and too many human/monster fights were happening. 

Sans, at this exact moment, was fighting to keep himself and Papyrus out of one of those very same neighborhoods. This whole miserable situation was only temporary (as Toriel kept telling him) but Sans could only hold down one medium wage job during the day that was one more 'costumer getting freaked out by the walking skeleton' incident from firing him for good and two less then minimum wage jobs at night from businesses that hadn't 'technically' hired him, and thus could pay him less under the table. 

Sans was willing to do it, but even working what sometimes felt like non-stop wasn't enough to live well off of; but he grit his teeth and bore it because, again, it was only 'temporary'. Papyrus, as part of monster/human relations, was in the process of getting the student loans needed to go to a community college to get the degrees he needed to work in Law Enforcement. Certain charity organizations were already trying to pull money to give out scholarships to him and other monsters like him trying to get a leg in the human community to work actual, salary jobs, and Toriel and Frisk were working hard to get the laws to change so that Papyrus could actually maintain a position in the legal force: Sans was willing to work a million jobs if it meant Papyrus could focus on completing what history would remember as a huge first step for the re-surfaced monsters.

But Papyrus's intentions was getting them a lot of negative attention; journalists and paparazzi harassed them, they received hate mail and death threats on an almost daily basis, and in their last apartment someone had broken into their room while they were away and trashed it, painting the walls with angry, violent graffiti and littering their beds with broken bird bones. 

Maybe the landowner had heard about what had happened to them in their last residence and had panicked, and that was why Sans had found a letter on their door informing them that as of this month, their first month, the rent had been raised another two hundred dollars. Sans couldn't afford to pay another two hundred on top of the 450 they were already paying for their studio, not that and the electricity and food, not to mention the small, secret little side savings Sans was attempting to build in what was probably an unrealistic dream of surprising Papyrus with his first car. Sans, without telling Papyrus about the letter, had thrown on his jacket and immediately headed out to offices on the first floor, where the landlord would likely be working. He needed to have this sorted out. They couldn't go back. This needed to get sorted today.

When Sans went down there, the old woman at the desk made him wait thirty minutes before the Landlord would see him. He hadn't known he would wait thirty minutes. She had told him it would be ten. Then another ten after that. Then five minutes. After the five minutes she hadn't said anything, but he had waited anyway, and eventually the Landlord opened his door, took a long look at him, and told him to come in.

“Alright, Mr...” The Landlord looked at his paperwork as they both sat down at the opposite sides of a large desk, the door closed firmly behind them. “...Skeleton? Really? Alright, Mr. Skeleton, I'm Mr. Renolds, your new Landlord and the owner of this building. So that we both know where we stand right away, let me make this perfectly clear; there is no one above me. There is nowhere you can go to complain if you don't like me or my answers. I'm it. We clear? Alright, so I'm going to take a shot in the dark here and say that you're here about the rent. It was in the contract that you signed that the price of the rent could change at any given time, for any reason. This was agreed upon.”

It took a second for Sans to focus on what Mr. Renolds was saying, a repulsion sinking through his bones. The landlord was what you would think he was, to an almost comical degree. He was large in every sense of the world, both tall and heavy, with a balding head that he had at least taken with enough dignity as to not try and comb over the thinning spots; on top of this he had small, mean eyes and patchy, unhealthy skin. He wasn't, necessarily, ugly though. He had an Italian butchness to him that could be charming, even endearing, if the person in the body knew how to throw it around. No, it wasn't the mans looks that repulsed Sans.

It was the feeling of his soul.

Human souls were funny, aggressive things. Humans had no idea how to hide or dampen the energy that their souls put out, because other humans could not naturally feel that energy; but monsters could read souls instinctively, could feel that odd, special sort of magical empathy sense birth that allowed another monster to see just how much damage your soul could take, how much pain it was already in, and other little tidbits and random things that a monsters soul might accidentally let slip, like how they were currently feeling or maybe what they were currently looking for in the world. This power didn't come naturally to humans, and so far it was only Frisk that Sans had ever met that could exploit this ability the same way monsters could, due to their strong DETERMINATION.

Funnily enough, being around many humans tended to make the intrusion of their loud, vibrant souls less irritating or overwhelming, as the energies tended to mix and meld and sort of morphed into this mindless background noise of nothing specific, easy to ignore. But alone in the room with the Landlord, Sans immediately felt the mans distrust, his paranoia and wary suspicion, his disgust and...

...another thing. A curious thing.

Sans recoiled from that small, other thing and immediately put his barriers up, dampening the feeling of the Landlords soul until Sans almost couldn't feel it at all. It didn't matter. The only thing that mattered was getting the rent back down to what they had originally agreed for.

“Yeah, Mr. Renolds. Look, I'm genuinely very sorry if myself and my brother have created some sort of, um, inconvenience for you and your building, but the price we have to pay now is just...not feasible for us. We really do want to live here, but if the price of six hundred and fifty dollars is still on the check at the end of the month, we just won't be able to pay it.”

The Landlord shrugged, shifting heavily in his chair, “Then you'll have to leave the building at the end of the month then. You're lucky I don't kick your out right now, considering you just told me you have no intentions of paying your bills.”

“It's not about intentions,” Sans insisted, with a hint of anger that he did his best to muffle before continuing on, “My brothers a student and there is literally not enough time in my day for me to make any more money. We don't have that extra two hundred. Maybe when my brother gets his job-”

“The tall skeletons gonna be a cop, right?” The Landlord said, opening up his desk and taking out a cigar, lighting it in one swift motion. Sans was pretty sure the man wasn't legally allowed to smoke in the building, but wasn't going to say anything. It wasn't like he was in danger of lung cancer or anything. It was just...rude. And it had been meant to be rude. Sans didn't need to feel his soul to know that. “Cops are alright, when they know their place. But monster cops? A lot of people don't like it Sans. Can I call you Sans?” Mr. Renolds took another puff and waited, and Sans realized he was actually waiting for an answer.

“...Sure.” Sans said. He didn't mind being called by his first name from a stranger. He only minded because he knew the Landlord was trying to be a little shit about it, looking to push his buttons. He had to remain calm. He needed this to work out. Papyrus needed this to work out.

“You're on the news, you know? More your brother then you, honestly, but your mugs are out there. And a lot of your neighbors weren't happy to see you two around. I had a lot of complaints. A lot of people just straight up saying that if I didn't kick you out, they were leaving. That's good money down the drain, Sans. That's gonna be a lot of effort to replace those spots, Sans. That's a lot to lose and nothing to gain, Sansy. Do you see where I'm coming from here?”

Sans did, and though it was a grudging understanding at best, he could see where the guy was coming from. Still, the way he was acting...if he had just wanted to kick them out and be done with it, he could have dodged Sans till the end of the month and been within his legal right to kick out his short-funded tenants when they couldn't make rent. Instead what the man was doing was putting on a show, really trying to drive in the point of how utterly fucked he and his brother were. Why go through all the trouble?

Sans remembered the small, curious thing that he had picked up from the mans soul, and suddenly wondered if he would do it. Wondered if he could give up one of those last few bits of his self esteem. Its not like there was that much left of himself to give...

Sans thought about how proudly his brother was going to show off him the day he received it, and forced himself to say, “Is there something you want to just go ahead and say to me, Mr. Renolds?”

The Landlord took another heavy puff of his cigar, and said, “I'd appreciate it if you called me 'Sir'.”

Again that pause. That patient waiting. Sans felt something of his self-respect whither away and die as he mumbled, “Is there something you want to say, Sir?”

The man smiled and Sans knew he was heading in the right direction, whether he really wanted to or not. “You know,” the Landlord said, “when I was a kid I had a real thing for the human bone structure. Was one of those things I was really good at in class, for the short time that teachers cared about that sort of thing. I bet I could still remember most of the names of all those little bones you're made of. Funnily enough, I've never seen a skeleton in real life though. That skull of yours is fascinating enough, but I'm real curious about what the rest of you must look like, underneath those clothes of yours.”

That was the cue. That was his cue to either get mad and leave, thus getting himself and Papyrus evicted, or to...stay. Sans found himself unwilling to make the choice just yet, muttering darkly, “Sir, maybe we can make some sort of payment plan or-”

“I'm tempted to kick you out of this office in about thirty seconds,” the Landlord said, “Sansy.”

Sans hesitated, and then quickly, wildly, rationalized to himself. As he took off his jacket, he thought to himself that this wasn't that big a deal, that it was just him showing his bones, that it wasn't like he was hiding anything special down there anyway, that he could dim his magic so low that the man couldn't even hope to see the dark blue of his soul, which was the only part of a monster that was really intimate, that really mattered, this didn't matter. He took off his white turtleneck too, and hesitated, wondering if the man would be satisfied with his upper half exposed. 

The man peered down at him before shrugged, looking unimpressed, “Can't really see nothing,” he said, “Sansy, do me a favor and stand up would ya? And go ahead and take off the rest of that while you're at it. No point in half-assing this, now is there?'

Sans stood up without a word, though he made no move to leave the side of his chair, making the sudden decision to just get this over with as quickly as possible as he kicked off his shoes and started working at his pant buttons. 

“Sansy?”

Sans looked up, wary and more then a little frustrated. “Yes?”

“I asked you a question before.” The Landlord said, “It's rude not to answer a question.”

Sans brain rushed backwards to find the question, finding it and trying to keep his patience (and fear. There was some fear) under control as he answered, “No, nope, definitely shouldn't half-ass it, sir. Not that I have any ass to give. You, do understand that, right, Sir? That there's going to be nothing under these?”

The Landlord smiled and shrugged, puffing away at his cigar. 

Scowling the best he could using only his eyes, Sans pushed himself out of his pants, kicking them and his socks off as well before standing still amongst his clothes, even more naked then the day he had been created. Even then he had at least been covered by some of the ruined remains of Gasters clothes. Sans realized with a somewhat sinking of his heart that this might actually be the first time anyone anywhere had ever seen him completely naked. He liked clothes. Clothes were comfortable and soft and safe. The only time he was ever naked was in or out of the shower, and even then only for a moment. A sudden seizure of panic made Sans realize that he really, genuinely didn't like this. That he didn't want to be seen like this, especially not by this creep. He suddenly, desperately wanted to call for help.

But he swallowed the terror down. It was already done. He couldn't ruin it now. Just think about the day Papyrus graduates, Sans told himself. Think of all the fresh new cop jokes he could annoy his brother with. Think about how happy going to school was going to make him, which he was going to need every advantage in the world to pass, and having to hold onto a job to help pay the new rent or, god forbid, going back to that damn neighborhood wasn't going to help. Pap needed this from him.

'Not like this. He wouldn't want it like this. Paps would be furious if he saw what was happening right now.' A treasonous voice whispered to him. 

Sans ignored it. 

On instinct, Sans almost teleported away when the Landlord stood up, and did back up a few steps when the large man walked around the desk. “Relax,” the Landlord said, putting his cigar down on his ashtray, “I'm just trying to get a better look. Most of you is hiding behind the desk. You're so small. Did you die when you were just a kid or something?”

“I-I'm not undead,” Sans said, the closeness of the man causing him to lose some of his composure, some of the chill that he definitely wasn't feeling anyway, “I was born as a skeleton. That's just how it is, for monsters.”

“Makes no damned sense,” The Landlord said, chuckling, just amused. “You're so far down, I want to get a closer look. I'm gonna put you on the desk, alright Sansy?”

“!?” Before Sans could gasp anything out, the mans hands were on his arms, clenched tight and lifting, before placing him down sitting at the edge of the desk. Sans was short, barely even the kids height, and his legs dangled well above the ground as his vision was suddenly full of this ugly, devil of a bastards face as the guy peered curiously into his eye sockets. Sans practically jumped as the man fingers seemed to appear out of nowhere and pushed their way into the blackness of one of his eyes, feeling the chilled fog that hazed inside of them, his fingertips edging at the magic buildup inside of their. Sans pulled his head backwards and, now trembling, partly due to the waves of energy the disturbance of his magic caused inside of him, said, “D-don't t-touch me. I-I-I'm saying n-n-no to touching.”

The landlord laughed. “This is a little late to be trying to grow a spine, ain't it?”

That was where the hands went next: onto his spine. Thick, hairy fingers rubbed and pocked and prodded at his rounded edges, and one hand fully encircled it and held, the other grabbing Sans ribcage and pushing backwards, the man watched, fascinated, at the bend of the spine. The Landlord pushed and pushed until Sans was leaning back entirely on the desk, the landlords hands grasping firmly onto Sans ribcage as his other hand now left his spine, reaching down towards Sans legs that shifted relentlessly over the edge of the desk, trying to steady themselves in their awkward half-hanging position. 

Sans was scared. Teleporting wasn't an option when his feet weren’t on the ground, and the mans grip was rough, the weight of him against Sans legs heavy and unforgiving. He could very, very easily be hurt right now. It would only take one misstep. It always only ever took one misstep. Sans wanted to tell the man, to warn him, but of all things it was his pride that stilled his tongue. One HP wasn't normal, even for a weak monster; Sans had spent his whole life (all of the three years that he had lived it, so far) proving to the monsters around him that they didn't need to treat him like glass. And he didn't....he just didn't...

God, it was so stupid, but even here and now, on his back and overwhelmed, Sans didn't want this human to know just exactly how outmatched Sans was. He could feel this humans determination burning like a fire against Sans bones, and while it didn't match Frisks (because in truth no power in this world really matched that childs willpower) the mans focus and fixation on this abuse was its own sort of Determination, its own sort of power.

Sans couldn't dodge forever. This time he hadn't even tried.

“You know, when you first walked in here, I would have said you were chubby, underneath those clothes of yours.” The landlord said, feeling around the inside of Sans pelvis, fingernails picking and snagging at the rougher edges, “But you're literally just bones. You don't make any damned sense, really.”

Sans had a lackluster control of his powers at best, and most of the time his magical abilities pooled and and sat around his spine, just sort of hanging around. Fear had made Sans pull his magic in and hide it in his soul, which he had been quick to dull and subdue so that the Landlord wouldn't notice it. It hurt, actually, keeping it all contained like this. He wondered how Papyrus did it all the time.

He suddenly, vehemently wished Papyrus was here. He wanted this choice taken out of his hands. Consequences or not, he wanted to be saved from this. That fear caused all sorts of mild changes in Sans expression. A rocky hitch of breath, a widening, strained look in his eyes, the way his fingers curled in, nervous and protective. Sans didn't notice the differences in himself, but the man did.

Because of this, Sans was not actually entirely certain what it was that created the sudden rush of arousal in the man. He supposed it was some stray, personal line of thought inside the landlords head that caused the sudden rush of warm electricity that seemed to shoot from Sans shoulder blade to where theoretically his groin was supposed to be. Sans audibly gasped at the unusual feeling. Monsters got aroused and felt sexual pleasure, certainly, but monsters felt these things differently then humans: it tended to result in a strong desire to meld souls, to mix magic and pressing feelings of love and desire, passing these feelings back and forth and back and forth between the two participants until it was a whirlwind of excited, good feelings and a new sense of 'wholeness'. If the monsters sustained it long enough, that 'wholeness' could develop its own will and conscience , and a new, entirely individual soul would start to develop, hidden and protected inside one of the monsters concentration of magic. 

Human arousal was different. Very different, and open and exposed as the landlord was to Sans, Sans could feel most of it. It was so uniquely physical, and it seemed almost maddeningly instinctive. Even though Sans had no genitals, the man could not seem to let go of the idea of rubbing in and around Sans pelvis, apparently incredibly turned on just by the genetic memory of what ought to be there. He felt that curiosity to poke and prod almost completely melt away, and the desire to control and consume replace it.

Sans could feel the lust so sharply his sense mistook the desire for his own for a moment, and he felt his magic trying to react, to adjust to the desire, to form some sort of genitals for the human to interact and 'meld' with. But Sans wouldn't allow it. He suppressed the building magic and buried it, pulling away from the feeling of the human soul as best he could, trying to numb himself. He didn't want to feel these things, though hiding in his own feelings of repulsion and fear didn't necessarily make any of this any easier to deal with. Still, the humans desire felt even more violating then his rubbing, wandering hands. Sans had the almost idle thought of maybe phasing out entirely, of putting himself to sleep, mentally if not physically. He just wanted to get through this. But if he wouldn't allow the humans soul to show itself to him, then he had to stay mentally aware. Just in case.

The human grabbed one of his hands, the larger, meaty paw almost completely swallowing his own tiny bones, and suddenly squeezed fiercely. It was 0.20 percent of a single hit points worth of paint; it would not have even been noticed by any other monster, but for Sans it was worth a sudden burst of terror. 

“Don't hurt me.” Sans said softly, as the human continued his grip. Another 0.03 percent worth of damage. “Please. I'm doing this, I'm going along with this, there's no need to hurt me.”

The landlord considered him. His grip lightened. “You got a tongue?”

“No.” Sans replied softly, thought the magic struggling inside of him disagreed, calling him a liar and struggling to perform the meld that it thought he wanted. “I don't have anything. Really. I'm all bones.”

The landlord scowled. He leaned more of his weight into Sans body, and keeping a grip around Sans hand, used his other hand to explore the skeletons eyes with his fingertips. A good chunk of Sans magic was contained inside of that eye right now, and the humans fingers disturbed it again, sending another little wave of energy through the connections of his soul. Sans shuddered.

“You can close your eyes.” The landlord mused, “That's so weird. You make so little sense. Stay still, little monster.” The landlord pulled himself up onto the desk, his knees settling either side of Sans head. The weight of the mans body against Sans spine was enough to suggest pain, but not actually cause it so long as Sans lied still. Sans tried his best to be as still as possible. 

Sans watched as the landlord undid his pants button and zipped down his fly, pulling out through the hole in his boxer shorts the first penis Sans had ever seen. “Wow,” Sans said, in a moment of honesty, “That is super gross looking.”

It was though. It didn’t look like any other part of the human body that Sans had seen. It was thick and gaudy, hair spiking through layers of wrinkle that rested on odd and uneven mounds of flesh that on any other part of the body would have put Sans in the mindset of tumors and illness. It smelled as well, something sour, though it didn't necessarily look unclean. Sans could tell the smell distinctly because the thing was being aimed right for his face.

“Don't do that, please don-” Sans spasmed in revulsion, his attempts to push the man back ending in almost effortless failure as the man, not even bothering to pin the skeletons arms down anymore, let go of Sans hand and instead focused his attention on grabbing his head, pulling the skull up and, after a few mis-aimed attempts, shoving his dick into one of Sans eyes.

The second the foreign object was inside his eye that eye went blind, which he supposed was a good thing, considering the blackness was preferable to what he could have been seeing. What was bad, however, was his souls reaction to the intrusion. It was...it was like...

Sans had never felt temperature before. He wore thick, heavy clothing to better protect himself from minor injuries, not due to the cold. But by description alone, based on everything he had ever read or heard, he imagined this is what fire felt like.

It hurt. That the was first impression. Holy shit it hurt. How did people with skin stand this?! He wanted to shove the man off of him, to curl away and wait for the damned heat to go away, to go back to feeling normal. But whatever discomfort Sans was feeling, his 'partner' seemed to be enjoying himself, his movement slow and testing, his eyes focused. Determined. Fucking determination. What right did an entire species have to such an overpowered ability? It was fucking bullshit, is what it was. Sans couldn't help it. Some of his barriers went down and he could feel the edges of the mans soul again. The man was enjoying....vibrations? Apparently Sans magic against the mans dick felt like static shock, and the man was both enjoying the sensation and was suspicious of it, his paranoia of possible side effects keeping him from going all out yet. That hesitation wouldn't last though, was already fading into a 'fuck it, I've gone this far' attitude, his breath going funny as he quickened his pace.

“Whats this feel like to you?” The man asked, though he had stopped listening to anything Sans had to say since a little before the 'gross' comment, “I can feel you trembling between my legs. You must be feeling something. Does it hurt?”

It felt like terror . It felt unsafe and violating. It felt...weird. Not good or bad, just foreign. The only real 'pleasure' Sans was getting was out of the echoes of the feelings of the man. The buildup was strange. He could feel pressure building in the mans groin, a persistent tingling of nerves, and as the nerves went more wild, Sans could feel the space between the mans dick and his own eye-socket get smaller and smaller. Soon the edges of his eye-socket closed in tightly around the mans dick, helped along by Sans own inherent wincing at the mans movement.

While Sans would have imagined the tightness would have been a painful and unwelcome development, the pressure around the mans member seemed to be what he was looking for. A deep, keen noise hissed out between the mans teeth, and the man took the skeletons skull and lifted it up into a somewhat awkward position as the man swayed his hips, testingly fucking Sans skull.

After all this caution with no apparent side effects to putting his dick into an unwilling magical skull, the man allowed himself to relax, and enjoyed himself.

Sans couldn't help the startled gasp of fear as the man started pounding his large hips into Sans face. With each pound, Sans noticed a new, terrible situation developing. 

POUND. 

-0.01

POUND.

-0.01

POUND.

-0.02

Sans HP, trickling away with every thrust.

-0.02

-0.02

-0.03

Pound. Pound. Pound.

Through his own increasing hurt and the echoes of the mans pleasure, Sans had a sudden vision of himself dying like this, on his back with a human fucking him like some sort of blow up doll, with no one in the whole world having any sort of clue where he was. Then, somehow, Papyrus would find out anyway...

“No! N-no stop!” Sans cried out, the horror of that mental image too much, the idea of Papyrus finding out his brother had died like this, like a prostitute, the shame of the idea...his panic finally outweighed his pride, “Please, you're hurting me, I can't, I- I can't handle much damage, please, SIR, please!”

The begging was a mistake. This was all a mistake, but the begging even more so. The mans arousal increased ten-fold, the mans pleasure at Sans pleading so intense that Sans was struck dumb by its echo effect, for a moment almost as intoxicated with his own hurt as the man was. His magic pulled and pushed inside of him, begging to be released, to join the 'fun', and it was only the mental image that kept intruding itself into his subconscious, over an over again, of Papyrus finding out about this in the throes of grief, that kept Sans from willingly giving into the mans desire and melding his soul with him, because holy shit that would be so much easier then dealing with this right now.

The sound the mans body made was heavy, thumping against Sans skull and rattling his bones. Each hit came quicker, harder. The actual physical act wasn't that bad, and without intention Sans doubted the act would have shaved anything off of his HP. Oh, but the intention. Then intention to hurt was there. The man wanted Sans in pain, and that was nowhere more clear then in -0.03, -0.03, -0.04.

Sans only had 0.20 HP left.

All of Sans barrier went down, and the mans soul rushed over him, consuming. It might as well have been a soul meld, for how little Sans could see of himself past the self-involved enormity of the mans determination. Sans could feel sharply the mans desire to see him beg, to hear him scream. The intentions to hurt got more focused.

POUND.

POUND.

POUND.

Sans had 0.15HP left.

Sans screamed. He begged. He let out his pain in an almost exaggerated fashion, threw himself purposefully into a frenzy beneath the man, in hopes that this might satisfy him enough to quench the mans terrible thirst, to lower his intention to hurt.

It didn't. Humans never had enough. Friends, jokes, food, screaming, begging, fighting, submission, nothing was ever good enough. Humans always wanted more. It was a lesson Sans kept learning over and over again, that he could never give enough to the point where the humans would stop taking, but it was the only idea he had ever had, and he stuck to it with the grimness of a drowning man holding onto a floatation device with a hole in it.

The mans intensity increased, and Sans HP dropped from 0.15 to 0.05 in a heartbeat. Sans was going to die like this.

Sans started to apologize. He said “Sorry, sorry, sorry” over and over again, a mindless mantra. He wasn't sure what he was sorry for or who he was apologizing to. He wasn't sure if he was even saying it aloud or if it was just a thought in his head, going 'sorry, sorry, sorry' over and over again. He was going to die like this. This fucking bastard huffing and grinning above him, pressing him down, with some weird damn...slime? Or something? Coming out of the mans dick in little beads, lubricating the edges of Sans eye-socket. The slime mixed with Sans tears. He wasn't entirely certain when he had started crying, but wasn't surprised to realize he had. He was really going to die like this. He hoped Papyrus never found out. He hoped no one ever knew. “Sorry, sorry, sorry-”

-0.02

-0.01

-0. 0(!?)

The man stopped, mid(attack)thrust. Sans felt a fiery, electric sense of release, so intense that for a moment Sans lost his mind to it, his vision swimming in colors and his thought process coming to an abrupt halt as his body shook from the intensity of it. It was mindless, physical pleasure of the kind Sans had never felt before.

But that was not why the man had stopped. And buried underneath all that pleasure, was another feeling.

A brutal, final sort of pain.

It didn't belong to Sans. For a moment, he thought it did, though that maybe this was what turning to dust felt like. But it wasn't Sans pain. It was the mans. The landlord. Sans couldn’t remember the name he had given him...

Sans looked up with his one good eye and saw the landlord staring at him, his face scrunched in pain, agony and terror etched into his eyes. The man tried to breath. He failed. He tried to breath again. He could not. It sounded like he was choking on something, and through the mans teeth came a trickle of red that dripped and landed onto Sans own face, who just watched this, confused and afraid himself.

Sans heard laughter and wondered if it was his own. The man was finished raping him and was now trying to breath while blood filled his lungs. It was a perfect, and almost worthless karma. It was hilarious. It was not Sans laughing.

When the man fell, thankfully off to the side and off the desk rather then on top of Sans himself, his dick went with him, and Sans could see with both eyes again. His vision followed the laughter, small and pleasant and bell-like.

He wasn't surprised to see Frisk. He didn't need to look down at the body of the man to know there would be a knife in his back. He had practically felt the knifes killing blow himself.

Frisk stopped laughing and waved at him, looking pleased with themselves. Sans didn't wave back. Frisk, undisturbed, moved around the desk and towards the mans body, and though Sans, still laying on his back, couldn't see it, he heard Frisk grab the knife by its hilt and pull until the mans body released it. The sound of it made Sans non-existent stomach curl. He supposed he could allow his magic to release now...but didn't dare. He had no idea how much Frisk knew about him, but Sans knew in this timeline he had yet to show Frisk how his magic actually worked, and Sans was desperate to at least keep a few secrets from the child. If that was even possible.

“...he's dead?” Sans asked, uselessly. He knew the man was. Had felt him dying. Had mistaken that death for his own, for a moment.

Frisk nodded. They were cleaning off their knife on the mans shirt. Sans couldn't see it, he just knew it was happening. Could feel it in Frisks soul. Frisk never hid their soul from him. He knew they could, knew they did with the other monsters, but they never bothered around Sans. They had before, for awhile. They had raised their barriers around Sans so that Sans could only partly feel their soul when they were around, had kept themselves hidden and private. Their actions had been kind and merciful, so Sans hadn't thought much of it, while they were in the underground, assuming that Frisk was just a private person who preferred to not have their soul on display, as most monsters were.

Then the barrier had fallen, freeing the monsters, and they had stepped out into the sun, and in that moment, as if Frisk had been waiting to do it all along, they had let out their soul to Sans, and Sans could see, even when all the monsters around him couldn't, that deep, dark, evil, biding away its time inside of them.

Sans felt that evil now, laid bare in Frisks soul, who hid nothing from him. Frisk was enjoying themselves. They were proud of the kill and thought that Sans frightened silence was amusing. They were casual in this room, which was familiar to them. They had stood here before. They had done this before. A Reset had happened.

“Did...” Sans almost didn't want to know, “Did I die in the other timeline?”

“Yeah.” Frisk said casually, storing their knife away, “I Reset after we figured out what had happened to you. It only set the timeline back about a week.”

'You waited' Sans wanted to accuse, his HP only at 0.01 percent left, the nearness of his death causing his bones to sweat and tremble, 'You knew I was here and you literally have all of time at your fingertips and you waited till the last possible second.'

Sans wanted to say it. Wanted to make that accusation. But why bother? Frisk could read his soul just as easily as he could read theirs, their DETERMINATION easily strong enough to get past Sans defenses. Why tell them of his fear and betrayal when they already knew?

They were looking for something now. They walked around the mans body and went underneath the desk. Sans heard the familiar sound of a DVD player opening. Without even asking what it was for, Sans wondered where the camera was. 

Frisk came up from under the desk, holding a disk. “This is how we found out what happened.” They explained. They told him a story, but Sans barely even heard it. He was too busy reading what actually happened through their soul. 

“In the last timeline, this guy almost got away with killing you. His desk worker is blind as a bat and claimed they never realized it was a monster that had been his last visitor, and other then her no one else had seen you enter his office. It took us a week to even get an idea where you had gone.”

That was what Frisk said. What their soul said was: It was fun. A real life murder mystery, and I got to be a part of solving it. I could have just gone back and followed you the day you disappeared, but that wouldn't have been nearly as interesting.

“Even when we figured out where you went, your dust had been disposed of long before, so there was no real way to prove you had died in here just by the room alone. Thankfully, this idiot keeps a security camera in here, and I guess he was pretty confident no one would go looking through it, because your murder was still in the videos.”

They wouldn't let me watch the tape. They all wanted to 'protect' me from the image. But I wanted to see what happened Sans. I wanted to see real bad. If they had just let me see, I wouldn't have had to wait till the last second to save you, Sans. But now I get to watch it too. 

“I couldn't just let him live, Sans. It was a bad thing he did to you. I wanted to make him pay, but I couldn't do that unless he had actually committed the crime. That was why I had to wait, Sans. I hope I didn't leave you in here too long.”

He almost fucked you to death, Sans. Isn't that funny? Isn't that interesting? I'm going to enjoy watching it. And when they saw those tapes, they were going to see that Sans had practically let him...

Frisk must have seen that thought in his soul. They frowned. “I'll admit, Sans, I also waited because for a second there I thought maybe I had made a mistake, that maybe this guy wasn't the one who killed you. I had come here kind of expecting to see him drag you in here kicking and screaming. I hadn’t thought you'd be so...willing.”

Sans felt sick. He felt the human slime sliding around inside his skull and wanted to drown himself in boiling water, just to get all of that sick out. He wanted to explain himself. Wanted to insist that he hadn't thought it would go that far. He even went so far as to actually open up his mouth and explain.

What came out was this though. “Please don't tell Papyrus.” Sans said, and then the tears came back, ugly, heaving sobs, rattling through his chest, “Don't tell Papyrus, Frisk. Don't tell anyone. Please?”

Sans could feel things inside of Frisk. Amusement, mostly. Frisk did most things just to amuse themselves, to alleviate the boredom. But there was something else in there too. Hiding in the darkness, besides the boredom and the fun and the apathy...

...another thing. A curious thing.

Sans shuddered and hoped Frisk would ignore it.

Frisk shrugged. “Sure Sans. But for no one to know, I'm going to have to get away with killing this guy. It's okay though, I came prepared.”

From his position on the desk, Sans head the sound of something pouring, and smelled the gasoline.

“People live in this building.” Sans murmured.

“I'll pull the fire alarm. Can you do one of your shortcuts, or are you too hurt?”

“Me and Papyrus live here.”

“I'm sure the fire department will get here before the fire spreads past this room. Papyrus isn't home anyway. He's working on some college stuff with mom.”

“We don't have anywhere else to go.” They couldn't stay here. The rent was still too much. The landlord hadn't changed it. Not before...well.

“You'll just come live with me and mom. We've been trying to get you guys to move in with us for ages anyway. Mom will be pleased to have you. Me too. You never come around enough, Sans.”

Sans shut his eyes. The offer had been made to them before. Sans had always come up with some excuse or another. He had been trying to avoid living with Frisk since the minute he had seen what was in their soul. They weren't...safe.

But maybe that was just him being selfish. After all, Frisk had never shown that side of themselves to anyone other then him. Maybe they had no desire for anyone other then him to ever see that part of them, to get a glimpse of that evil. Toriel lived with them and seemed fine. He had never heard any complains from any of the monsters that regularly interacted with Frisk, including Papyrus. If the absolute worst they would do is just frighten him terribly by letting him see....and, well...even if that wasn't the worst thing they could do...

Sans had proven just now that what happened to him mattered very little. And Papyrus needed a place to live.

So for the second time that night, Sans sold himself to a human, this time by drying up his tears, finally getting up from the desk, the mans sick still pooling away in his skull, and nodding to Frisk.

“Yeah.” Sans said, “Okay.”


End file.
